The Icarus Agenda by Robert Ludlum

‘He didn’t know Eretz from Biarritz! He was a WASP grubber who thought he was losing the Jewish vote in Los Angeles. He told me that himself the day before. He mistook me for an ally thinking that I’d approve—goddamn it, he winked at me!’

‘Do you still believe what you said?’

‘Yes,’ replied Kendrick hesitantly, as if questioning his own response. ‘No one who’s walked through the squalor of the refugee camps can think anything remotely normal can come out of them. But what I saw in Masqat went too far. Forget about the screaming and the wild chants, there was something ice cold, a methodical brutality that thrived on itself. Those animals were enjoying themselves.’

‘The majority of those young animals never had a home. Their earliest memories are of wandering through the filth of the camps trying to find enough to eat, or clothes for their younger brothers and sisters. Only a pitiful few have any skills, even basic schooling. These things were not available to them. They were outcasts in their own land.’

‘Tell that to the children of Auschwitz and Dacha!’ said Evan in quiet, cold fury. ‘These people are alive. They’re part of the human race.’

‘Checkmate, Mr. Kendrick. I have no answer, only shame.’

‘I don’t want your shame. I want to get out of here.’

‘You’re in no condition to continue what you were doing. Look at you. You’re exhausted, and on top of that you’ve been severely damaged.’

The sheet across his waist, Kendrick supported himself on the edge of the bed. He spoke slowly. ‘I had a gun, a knife and a watch among several other valuable items. I’d like them back, please.’

‘I think we should discuss the situation—’

‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ said the congressman. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

‘Suppose I were to tell you we’ve found Tony MacDonald?’

‘Tony?’

‘I work from Cairo. I wish I could say we were on to him months ago, perhaps years ago, but it wouldn’t be true. The first inkling I had was early this morning, before daybreak in fact. He followed me in a car with no headlights—’

‘On the road above the Jabal Sham?’ asked Evan, interrupting.

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’re Crawly or something like that. Cawley the—enemy, among other things.’

‘My name is Khalehla, the first two syllables pronounced like the French seaport Calais; and I am indeed his enemy, but not the other things which I can easily imagine.’

‘You were following me.’ A statement.

‘Yes.’

‘Then you knew about the “escape”.’

‘Again, yes.’

‘Ahmat?’

‘He trusts me. We go back a long time.’

‘Then he must trust the people you work for.’

‘I can’t answer that. I said he trusts me.’

‘That’s a corkscrew statement—two corkscrew statements.’

‘It’s a corkscrew situation.’

‘Where’s Tony?’

‘Holed up in a room at the Tylos Hotel on Government Road under the name of Strickland.’

‘How did you find him?’

‘Through the taxi company. On the way he stopped at a sporting goods store suspected of selling illegal weapons. He’s armed… Let’s say the driver was co-operative.’

‘”Let’s say”?’

‘It’ll suffice. If MacDonald makes a move, you’ll be informed immediately. He’s already made eleven phone calls.’

‘To whom?’

‘The numbers were unpublished. A man will go over to the Central Exchange in an hour or so when the calling lets up and get the names. They’ll be given to you as soon as he has them and can reach an official or a public phone.’

‘Thanks. I need those numbers.’

Khalehla pulled over the small rococo chair in front of the dressing table and sat down opposite Kendrick. ‘Tell me what you’re doing, Congressman. Let me help.’

‘Why should I? You won’t give me my gun or my knife or my watch—or a certain piece of clothing you’ve probably sold by now. You won’t even tell me whom you work for.’

‘As to your gun, your knife, your watch and your wallet, and a money belt with some fifty thousand American dollars, and your gold cigarette lighter, and a squashed pack of not-for-export American cigarettes—which was very foolish of you—you may have them all if you’ll just convince me that what you’re doing won’t result in the slaughter of two hundred and thirty-six Americans in Masqat. We Arabs can’t tolerate that possibility; we’re despised enough for the horrible things we can’t control. As to whom I work for, why should it matter to you any more than it does to your friend and my friend, Ahmat? You trust him, he trusts me. So you can trust me, too. A equals B equals C. A therefore equals C. Incidentally, your clothes have been fumigated, laundered and pressed. They’re in the first closet on the left.’

Evan, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, stared at the intense young woman, his lips slightly parted. ‘That’s a hell of a mouthful, lady. I’ll have to think about your alphabetical logic.’

‘I don’t know your schedule, but you can’t have much time.’

‘Between eleven-thirty and midnight tonight,’ said Kendrick, with no intention of revealing anything but a time span. ‘A young man was with me on the plane. He’s a terrorist from the embassy in Masqat.’

‘He registered at the Aradous Hotel on the Wadi Al Ahd as “T. Farouk”.’

‘How…?’

‘Another co-operative driver,’ answered Khalehla, permitting herself a broader smile. ‘”Let’s say,'” she added.

‘Whoever you work for has a lot of input in a lot of places.’

‘Oddly enough, the people I work for have nothing to do with it. They wouldn’t go this far.’

‘But you did.’

‘I had to. Personal reasons; they’re off limits, too.’

‘You’re something, Cawley.’

‘Khalehla—Kah-lay-la—in English. Why don’t you call your friend at the Aradous? He bought clothes at the hotel and also got a haircut. I assume these were your instructions. But call him; relieve his mind.’

‘You’re almost too co-operative—like the drivers.’

‘Because I’m not your enemy and I want to co-operate. Call Ahmat, if you wish. He’ll tell you the same thing. Incidentally, like you, I have the triple five number.’

It was as if an unseen veil had been lifted off the Arab woman’s face, a lovely, striking face, thought Evan as he studied the large brown eyes that held such care and curiosity in them. Yet still he swore silently at himself for being the amateur, not knowing who was real and who was false!

Between eleven-thirty and midnight. That was the zero hour, the 30-minute span when he would catch a link, the link to the Mahdi. Could he trust this terribly efficient female who told him only so much and no more? Then again, could he do it himself? She had the triple five number… how did she get it? Suddenly, the room started to spin around, the sunlight through the windows became a sprayed burst of orange. Where were the windows?

‘No, Kendrick!’ shouted Khalehla. ‘Not now! Don’t collapse now! Make the call, I’ll help you! Your friend must know that everything is all right! He’s a terrorist in Bahrain!. He has nowhere to go—you must make the call!’

Evan felt the hard slaps against his face, the harsh, stinging blows that rushed the blood to his head, his head that was suddenly cradled in Khalehla’s right arm as her left hand reached for a glass on the bedside table. ‘Drink this!’ she commanded, holding the glass to his lips. He did so. The liquid exploded in his throat.

‘Jesus!’ he roared.

‘A hundred and twenty proof vodka and brandy,’ said Khalehla smiling, still holding him. ‘It was given to me by a British Mi-Sixer named Melvyn. “Get someone to have three of these and you can sell him a gross of anything on the rack,” that’s what Melvyn told me. Can I sell you something, Congressman? Like a phone call?’

‘I’m not buying. I don’t have any money. You’ve got it.’

‘Make that call, please,’ said Khalehla, releasing her prisoner as she retreated to the gold-rimmed dressing table chair. ‘I think it’s terribly important.’

Kendrick shook his head, trying to focus on the telephone. ‘I don’t know the number.’

‘I have it here.’ Khalehla reached into the pocket of her flight jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. ‘The number is five-nine-five-nine-one.’

‘Thank you, madame secretary.’ Evan reached for the phone, feeling a thousand aches in his body as he bent over and picked it up, pulling it to his lap. The exhaustion was spreading through him; he could barely move, barely dial. Azra?’ he said, hearing the terrorist’s voice. ‘Have you studied the map of Manamah? Good. I’ll pick you up at the hotel at ten o’clock.’ Kendrick paused, darting his eyes up at Khalehla. ‘If for any reason I’m delayed, I’ll meet you in the street at the north end of the Juma Mosque where it joins the Al Khalifa Road. I’ll find you. Understood? Good.’ Kendrick, trembling, hung up the phone.

‘You have one more call to make, Congressman.’